


The Torment of Tantalus

by InfiniteCrisis



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M, Murder Husbands Big Bang, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sexual Fantasy, Touch-Starved, Vulnerable!Hannibal, insecure!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 20:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteCrisis/pseuds/InfiniteCrisis
Summary: Set in Cuba after the fall.  Hannibal isn’t touching Will.  Will wants to know why, but is afraid to ask.Sexual and emotional tension and resolution; a comedy of errors told by the ocean and classical mythology."Everyone always spoke of the torment of Tantalus; no one ever stopped to consider what it was like for the tree."





	The Torment of Tantalus

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks you to everyone who helped make my first Big Bang such an amazing experience! Particularly aestheticmurderers who did the art (their blog and artpost can be found [here](https://aestheticmurderers.tumblr.com/post/180206810231/some-banner-art-i-did-for) ) which captured the spirit and energy of this story so well it brought me to tears, as well as [LennyM](https://lennym.tumblr.com/) who betaed this, and helped hold my hand when I was freaking out and crippled by insecurities. You guys really made this whole thing feel worthwhile, and I'm so very, very grateful. 
> 
> I also want to thank [Pragnificent ](http://pragnificent.tumblr.com/) who made a tumblr post (which of course, I can't find now, argh) that directly helped inspire this fic, along with everyone who added to/contributed to that post. The whole fannibal community continues to be a well of inspiration to me--thank you all so, so much!

 

 

 

 

Hannibal hadn’t touched him since they’d dragged themselves out of the ocean and into Chiyoh’s boat.  

Will hadn’t thought anything of it, or even noticed at first, but more and more time had gone by and he was starting to get a bit unhinged about it.  He couldn’t exactly explain why; he’d gone without human—and certainly without _Hannibal_ —contact before.  But Hannibal had _used_ to touch him—casually and easily and in ways that somehow, despite everything, had never felt invasive.  Will was starting to realize that, after Dolarhyde and their dive off the cliff, he’d subconsciously expected that they’d go back to…well, calling it ‘normal’ didn’t sound quite right.  But whatever it was, or had been, he felt its absence now, itching and grating him like sandpaper.

He’d even gotten desperate enough to contemplate initiating some sort of contact himself.  But, he’d never been all that good at that. _Initiating_.  It had always felt awkward to him, and usually he’d ended up fumbling it somehow.  He flashed back to his aborted kiss with Alana all those years ago and tamped down a grimace.  

He tried to imagine it.  It didn’t have to be anything drastic.  He could just…reach out a hand. Give Hannibal’s shoulder a pat.  

The thought alone made his cheeks flush with embarrassment.  He could just picture it— _pat pat—_ God, how ridiculous.  Hannibal touching him had always seemed so _natural_ , and _yes_ Will was aware that that ease had been to a good extent a deliberate manipulation on Hannibal’s part, but at this point he honestly couldn’t care less about all that.  He just wanted it _back_.  And he had absolutely no idea how to go about getting it.  

So, he did nothing.  And Hannibal did nothing.  And time crawled on.

 

It was hot, in Cuba.  

That wasn’t a surprising or insightful revelation, but Will still felt it bore mentioning, with the sun having set hours ago and the humid air still stuck to him like a wet blanket.  The heat didn’t bother him as much as it did Hannibal, who still insisted on wearing full get-ups from out of the Victorian age despite the sweat that would drip down his throat.

Will tugged at the cotton shirt sticking to him, trying to coax some of the wind blowing off the ocean in under his clothes.  Their house was close to the beach without being right on the water, up on a low hill. They could watch the waves from the back porch, or take a short walk down to sit at a driftwood table at the bottom.  Now, in the darkness, Will could barely make out anything. Only hazy shifting shades of black.

He looked anyway.  He’d found himself doing that a lot lately.  They’d almost died in that ocean, and perhaps that should’ve made him afraid, or at least wary of it.  But it didn’t. No, it felt like… _home_ was maybe the only way he could describe it.  Will himself had been the one trying to kill them; if anything, the ocean had given them their lives _back_ .  It could have swallowed them whole; instead it had spat them back out.   _Rebirthed_ them, so to speak.  

He’d shared that sentiment with Hannibal one evening, as they’d sat together watching the waves crash in.  Hannibal had smiled.

“Does she feel like a mother to you, now?” Hannibal had asked.  

“I don’t know,” Will had answered.  “What does a mother feel like?”

Will gazed out now, unblinking, till the shadows started to dance inside his eyes.  Hannibal had gone to bed already, leaving Will alone. He did that more and more, and Will tried to ignore the clenching in his throat and chest each time he did.  

 _It isn’t fair,_ he thought, his inner voice sounding petulant and shrill.   _I can’t be losing him_ **_now_ **.  

How _perfect_ it would be for Will to at last give in and run away with Hannibal, only for Hannibal to finally lose interest and leave him behind.  Maybe all that had ever kept him captivated was the chase, Will reflected bitterly, the game of it all. Maybe he never really wanted to _keep_ him once he’d won.

Will’s heart panged at the thought, full of aching hurt and seething rage.

They’d even killed together again.  Will had thought maybe that would break through whatever shell Hannibal had put himself in.  But it hadn’t, not really. He’d watched Will with a dark fire in his eyes, but he’d made no move to narrow the space between them.  Will remembered the weight of Hannibal’s arms around him on the bluff and felt like weeping.

The ocean was a comfort, a soothing balm against the emptiness inside him.  She would always be here, her tides steady and her depths infinite. He could feel the lilting movements of the water echoed in the blood pumping through his veins.

“Genesis claims that we came from dust,” He remembered Hannibal saying.  “But in truth, if anything, we came from water. We were made from it, and we still are.  We bleed it, and weep it.”

“Sweat it and piss it,” Will had cut in.  

Hannibal had just smiled wider, warm and amused.  “Among other things.”

Will turned away from the waves at last, heading back into the house.  He walked down the hallway to his bedroom ( _his_ , alone, the one Hannibal had gifted them when they arrived and never stepped foot in again).  It sat at the end of the hall, past Hannibal’s and the shared bath that lay between them. Sometimes in the morning Will would find the shower still wet from when Hannibal had used it, the scent of his shampoo lingering.  He hated that—the cruel reminder of what wasn’t there—and hated more how much he cherished it, grasping the slightest remnants to him like he was searching out the notes of a fastly fading song.

He walked past Hannibal’s room, noting the door had been left open.  For the airflow, probably, he deduced idly, his head turning to glance in without thought as he walked by without pausing.

Abruptly he halted, freezing mid-step just past the doorframe.  Slow and hesitant, he eased his weight back onto his backfoot, turning his head to look again.  The movement was tense and strained. Because he knew he shouldn’t look.

He shouldn’t look.  

Hannibal was sleeping, soundly, splayed out on his stomach on top of the sheets, the old fan plugged into the wall softly ruffling the hair that fell across his face.  

He was also naked.  

Completely.  

Will’s breath hitched.  He felt himself swallow.  He’d caught glimpses of Hannibal in various states of undress through their recovery, but he’d been more preoccupied with survival at the time, and besides, Chiyoh had been there to help with all that.  He’d seen the brand on Hannibal’s back through layers of bandages, but that was about it, and despite all that his image of Hannibal had always been and remained a decidedly _clothed_ one.  In fact, up to this point, an unbuttoned collar and rolled up sleeves had seemed borderline scandalous where Hannibal was concerned.  Now… _now_ there was just so much…

 _Skin_.

Will’s mouth felt dry and he tried swallowing again, only to have to fight back a cough.  

 _I could touch him_ .  The thought came suddenly, curt and unexpected.   _I could walk in, reach out a hand, and—_

Will ruthlessly broke that train of thought, wrenching himself back from the doorway.  He turned on his heel, pressing his back against the wall beside the still open door and shut his eyes tight, trying to blot out the image of Hannibal laying prone from his mind’s eye.  His memory and imagination, however, were far too good to allow that. Behind closed lids Will could still see him, dark shadows dancing over the long planes of Hannibal’s bared flesh.

 _I walk into the room.  I’m silent, careful. The fan helps cover the sound, and the smell of me_.

The words and images came unbidden, a ghost of gold plunging him into visions so vivid he could almost taste them.  

“I just need to touch you,” he mouthed silently, lips trembling.  “To _feel_ you.”  

In his mind he sees his own hand in front of him, not quite shaking in the dim light.  It lowers over the gentle curve between Hannibal’s shoulders, and then there’s warmth under his palm, solid as the wall against his back.  

Tilting his head back, and his eyes still closed, Will let out a barely audible sigh.  

In the convenience of fantasy, Hannibal remained asleep, his slumber deep and undisturbed in a way Will knew it would never be in reality.  Tentatively, his hand slid down along the length of Hannibal’s spine, smooth but for the scar under his shoulder-blades, and came to rest in the hollow of his lower back.  

Will was achingly, terrifyingly, hard.  

He gasped lightly in surprise—not because the arousal was sudden, but because his full awareness of it was.  His head felt dizzy, coherent thought lost in the thick, swampy air.

The hand in his mind’s eye drifted lower, and Will stopped breathing.  A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He might have had tears in his eyes but he wasn’t sure.  His real hands clenched tightly at his sides while the one in his mind explored, stroking and skimming Hannibal’s bared skin.  Fingers slid between Hannibal’s legs, and Will lifted a fisted hand to his mouth and bit down, eyes shut tight. The flesh there was hotter, more tender, almost buzzing with a dangerous vulnerability.  Trembling and barely breathing, Will stroked the soft skin of Hannibal’s perineum, and then brushed ever-so-lightly over the puckered hole between his cheeks. In the madness of his mind, Hannibal’s only response was to let out a quiet sigh and then gently, unconsciously, allow his thighs to fall open.  

Will came.  

His orgasm hit him like lightning and he felt himself jerk as he bit down harder on his fist, his other hand digging into his own thigh.  When it passed, his eyes blinked open, full of shock and mute horror, the stickiness in his pants stark and gruesome evidence of his transgression.  

He stood there, held up by the wall behind him as he gasped with wild disbelief, the absurd reality sinking into his slowly un-clouding mind.  

 **_God_ **.  

That was the only lucid thought he managed before fleeing.  He whirled across the hall into the washroom tearing at his clothes, and set the shower as cold as it would go before all but throwing himself in.  He scrubbed furiously, shivering, and then pressed both palms against the shower wall, letting the streaming water pour down over his bowed head.

**_God oh god oh god oh god—_ **

 

He stared up at the ceiling from his bed, now dressed in clean underwear and a t-shirt.  He was still a bit damp from the shower but he didn’t care. He was too busy wondering how, and when, this had happened.  

It had never been sexual, this thing between him and Hannibal, whatever Freddie Lounds and her ilk might insinuate.  Not in any literal way, in any case. Will had never once thought of Hannibal in those terms, at least not…not _like that_.  

 _You mean you’ve never jerked off to him before, is what you’re saying_ , said a mocking voice in his mind.  

Will closed his eyes, heat rising to his face.  He flashed back to what had happened with brutal shame.  God, all it had taken was a glimpse of Hannibal undressed, and all the walls he hadn’t even known he’d built had come tumbling down around him.  

 _Imagine if you’d seen the front of him_.  

Will bit his lip, moaning, fresh arousal stirring in his groin, hot and persistent

For a moment, he resisted.  But really, it wasn’t a very long moment.  

Gruffly, he shoved one hand down his shorts and slapped the other over his mouth.  He wasn’t sure whether it was to keep Hannibal from hearing him, or if he just felt the need to silence himself for other reasons.  It was short and graceless, the images and sensations in his mind vague and unfocused. A curve of a lip. The weight of a hand. A whisper of breath.  

 _See_.  

Will came again, tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

His sleep was fitful, his thoughts full of resentment and self-condemnation.  Because now Will knew he wanted Hannibal— _wanted_ him, in all the base ways he could imagine—and aside from the disturbing implications of that, more scathing was that this newfound awareness of his desires came with the knowledge that they’d likely _never_ be satisfied.  He’d never able to have Hannibal, not like that, not in the ways he wanted.  How could he?

He couldn’t even get Hannibal to touch him.

 

“Did you come in my room last night?”

Will just managed not to choke on his breakfast, carefully swallowing as he looked up and met Hannibal’s gaze.  He let his brow furrow, taking on an expression of polite confusion.

“No,” he said mildly with a soft shake of his head.  “Why?”

Hannibal was quiet a moment.  “I…” he began, almost tentative.  “Woke up in the night, I thought I’d…”  He trailed off. “But there was no one. I thought perhaps…?”  

Will shook his head again, gave a little shrug.  “No. I passed by on my way to bed. Noticed your door was open.  But I didn’t go in.”

All _technically_ true.

Hannibal looked at him strangely, but then just gave a short nod, saying nothing.  Will let out a soft, careful breath.

Hannibal didn’t mention it again, and neither did Will.

 

Will watched the surf, a light wind from off the water ruffling his hair.  The heat was less oppressive today at least. He’d walked down the hill to the beach and now sat at the little wooden table rooted into the sand.  There were a few others out enjoying the milder weather—some teenagers playing in the waves, a woman and a young girl walking along the beach, an old man napping under an umbrella—but they were all further off, any sounds they made swallowed by the vastness of the ocean.

He heard a noise over his shoulder and turned his head.

It was Hannibal.  

“May I join you?” Hannibal asked.  “I brought refreshments,” he added, as though Will might refuse.  

“I…of course,” Will mumbled, gesturing jerkily to the chair across from him.  

Hannibal sat, setting down a platter of cut mangos and two empty glasses on the table between them.  He filled the glasses with fruit-filled sangria, and then set the pitcher down as well before picking up a glass and taking a sip, sitting back into the spindly wooden chair.  Will picked up the other glass and just held it, tapping his fingers absently against the cool glass.

They sat silently, both looking out at the sea.  After a while, Will turned back to look at Hannibal, taking in the cut of his profile in the sun.  There was a look on his face, almost wistful, as he stared out at the water.

“I used to swim, often.” Hannibal commented, as though in answer to Will’s silent observation.  “It seems a small thing to miss, but…” He trailed off with a small shrug.

Will glanced out at the ocean, and then back again.  “Why don’t you? Swim here, I mean,” he added with a wave of his hand.  

Hannibal’s eyes flicked further down the beach.  “Perhaps later.” He met Will’s inquiring gaze, and then let out a quiet sigh.  “I haven’t quite managed to find a time when this beach is entirely deserted yet,” he explained.  “And I think…I think I have too many distinguishing marks now, for it to be wise to be in any state of undress where someone could see.”

Will’s mind flashed immediately to the brand seared into Hannibal’s back, because obviously that’s what he was talking about.  Other scars could be explained away, but that—that one was far too distinctive. It seemed Mason Verger had succeeded in marking Hannibal after all, Will thought, a bitter taste flooding his mouth.  Although…he chewed his lip, brow creasing.

“It’s not that bad,” he heard himself say.  Hannibal turned to look at him, quietly questioning, and Will swallowed under the weight of his gaze.  He looked away. “The…the burn, it’s…faded. I saw it when Chiyoh changed your bandages. It’s really not as bad as you might think,” he went on, not meeting Hannibal’s eyes.  “From a distance anyway. They might notice some discoloration or know it’s a scar, but I doubt they’d be able to tell anything else unless they’re really looking.”

He held Hannibal’s gaze a beat longer.  Hannibal looked back, mute and unmoving.  Then, quietly, his eyes shifted and he nodded, almost gratefully.  Will felt his face start to heat, and he looked away again.

A moment later Will sensed movement from his periphery as Hannibal stood, and then his head snapped to the side and his eyes widened as Hannibal calmly and coolly began stripping out of his shirt.  Apparently Hannibal had taken his comments to heart and had decided to test Will’s theory _right this God-damned minute_.  Shoes, socks and pants all went in quick succession, and Will could only watch with restrained panic as Hannibal grew more and more naked by the second.  He stopped short at his underwear, thank God, though the black briefs were still short enough to leave Will fighting down a blush. Then, without so much as a backward glance, Hannibal was heading down to the water’s edge at a light jog.  He waded in, and then dove under an incoming wave before popping back up to stand on the other side, and that was when Will may have stopped breathing.

Light caught and glittered on the beads of water now clinging to him.  His hair was longer now, his beard grown out, and he pushed his hair out of his face as he tilted it up towards the sun.  He half turned in the water, eyes closed in blissful serenity and lips parted softly in a gentle gasp. Droplets rolled down his back and chest, leaving gleaming trails along his skin.

 _He’d taste like salt_.

The thought sprang to his mind in a hoarse whisper, taunting him.  In an instant, Will saw himself standing in the water beside Hannibal, the ocean tugging at their knees.  The sun reflected off the surface, almost blinding, and this imagined, bolder Will shut his eyes against the glare as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s.  

They were soft, and pliant, and yes, tasted of the sea, cool and briny and full of something strange yet familiar.  He opened his mouth, reaching out his tongue for another taste and Hannibal’s mouth welcomed him, lips parting like petals.  The kiss was languid and indulgent, warm and wet, and seemed to go on forever. Easy and relaxed, Will moved his mouth to Hannibal’s throat, sucking the salt from his pulse-point and then the curve of his collar bone.  Water clung to the hairs at Hannibal’s chest, and Will pressed his nose to his breastbone and breathed deep, taking in the scent of musk mixed with ocean spray.

It was the most natural thing in the world for Will to sink to his knees.  The water came up nearly to his chest and soaked his clothes, but he didn’t care.  He pressed his lips to the curve of Hannibal’s stomach, soft and almost reverent. He laved at it with his tongue, seeking out every trace of ocean salt from Hannibal’s skin, nose tickled by the light hairs dusting his lower belly.  He reached lower, tongue brushing the waistband of Hannibal’s underwear, then paused. The fabric was damp, thick and water-logged, and his fingers trembled as the touched them, before curling into fists and tugging them down around Hannibal’s thighs.  

Closing his eyes, Will took Hannibal into his mouth and—

With a crash, like an incoming wave, Will was back in his chair, gasping.  His chest rose and fell as he blinked fervidly, trying to catch his breath.  He could still feel the weight of Hannibal in his mouth, and he shuddered, full of fierce arousal and desperate longing.  He was well on his way to sporting a full erection right there on the beach, and he shook himself, determinedly forcing down his arousal to more reasonable levels.  

It was then that he noticed that Hannibal had emerged from the water and was making his way back up to their table.  The sight of him, wet and gleaming, made Will’s cock twitch, and he quickly snapped his head to one side to stare blankly out across the length of the beach.  He counted his heartbeats and forced himself to breath evenly, vision blurring as he looked out vacantly from unblinking eyes till the scorching fire under his skin faded to a dull ache.  Dimly, he was aware of Hannibal reaching the table, standing to one side of his chair as he shook water from his hair and tried to brush the sand from his legs.

“Her name is Gabriella.”  

Will blinked, head turning back as his brow furrowed.  “What?”

Hannibal gestured with his chin.  “The woman. Her name is Gabriella.  I’ve met her in town. She works at one of the shops there.” He paused.  “She’s very friendly and well-spoken. I believe her English is quite good as well.”

Will looked, and there was indeed a woman standing in a deep orange dress some ways down the beach.  

He nodded dumbly.  “Oh.”

Hannibal glanced at him, an odd look on his face, then looked away.  “She’s a widow. The child is her’s.” He met Will’s eyes. “Madelin, if I recall.”  

Will nodded again, not sure what else to do.  There was another pause. Then, Hannibal shifted his eyes away to look down the beach, raising his arm in a wave as he called out in Spanish.  The woman turned, smiled, and waved back, dark hair blowing in her face.

“Hola, Señor!” She replied.  Hannibal spoke some more in Spanish, pitching his voice to carry above the surf, this time with a clear beckoning gesture.

“What are you doing?” Will demanded, suddenly alarmed.  

Hannibal ignored him, calling out once more and giving her a broad, inviting smile.  She smiled again as well, then turned to call back to the child playing in the driftwood up the bank, before crossing the space between them.  

“Good day to you,” she said, with a nod to both of them.  Her voice was warm, lightly accented and clear. “Enjoying the weather?”  

“I am indeed, Señora,” Hannibal replied.  

“Please, I have asked you to call me Gabriella,” she said with another broad smile.  

“And will you then call me Lucas?” Hannibal countered easily.

She laughed then, loud and bright.  “I will try.”

“Forgive me,” Hannibal said then, with a half turn towards Will.  “This is Gabriella, she works in town. Gabriella, this is my friend David.”

“Yes, I think you’ve mentioned him, a pleasure to meet you David.”  

Will picked up a slice of mango to avoid shaking hands and forced a smile.  

“I feel rude now, for only bringing two glasses,” Hannibal said with a nod towards the Sangria.  

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Gabriella chided.

“Will you have some fruit at least?  Please, sit,” Hannibal said with a gesture.  

“That’s very kind, but I couldn’t possibly take your seat, Señor.”

“Lucas,” Hannibal corrected.  

“Lucas, yes,” she amended.  

“And I’m afraid I neglected to bring any towels down, so I was heading back to the house myself,” Hannibal went on.  “I’d be quite pleased if you would take my place.”

“Well…all right then,” Gabrielle said.  “How can I refuse such generosity?” She sat down across from Will and picked up a sliver of mango.  “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Hannibal said, nodding his head in a sort of bow.  Then, with a pointed nod towards Will as well, he gathered up his clothes and turned to walk back up to the house.  

Will watched him go, mute and dazed, and then turned to look at the woman now sitting across from him.  

What in hell had just happened?

Gabriella glanced after Hannibal, still smiling.

“He’s a very kind man,” she said warmly.

Will forced another thin smile and gave a short nod, fighting the urge to roll his eyes straight out of his skull.

“I think it’s wonderful, what you are doing,” Gabriella went on.  

Will bit into another slice of mango and started to give another nod before her words really penetrated.  

He frowned.  

“What…what I’m _doing_?” He said, swallowing the mango down with a little cough.  

“Looking after him,” she elaborated.  “Since his accident.”

Will sat in silence for a moment, blinking.  

“I…” he began finally, haltingly.  “It’s not really…like that. He doesn’t need…looking after.”

“No, no of course not,” Gabriella said quickly.  Will’s jaw tightened. “He’s just spoken of how much he appreciates you, the help you’ve given him.  I know he has no family left.” She looked away, shaking her head. “A man his age shouldn’t be alone.”  She lifted her eyes back to Will. “That’s why it’s so good that you are here for him.” She reached out a hand and placed it gently over Will’s.  “It shows…great compassion.”

Will stared at their hands resting together on the table.  His first human contact in months, he realized, and it was all he could do not to jerk his hand away.  

A beat passed.  

“Excuse me,” Will said, carefully extracting his hand.  “I have to, um—” He wracked his brain for an excuse, then decided he didn’t actually care enough to think of one.  “—Go.” He gestured to the plate. “Please. Enjoy the mangoes.”

Before she could say anything else he stood up and walked away, climbing back up the path to the house.

 

He walked in the back door and stood aimlessly in the kitchen.  He put both hands on the counter, gazing blankly at the faucet of the sink with clenched teeth.  He could still feel the faint echo of her hand on his, and his fingers twitched.

“You’re back.”  

Will’s head snapped up, eyes landing on Hannibal hovering in the doorway to the hall.  His hair was still damp, but the rest of him was clean and dry. He was wearing different clothes.  

“What the hell was that,” Will snapped.

Hannibal’s brow quirked at Will’s hostility.  “I’m not sure what you—”

“Stop.” Will cut in.  He jerked his head in the vague direction of the beach.  “ _That_ .  Whatever _that_ was.  That… _set up_ .   **_Gabriella_ ** .  And don’t for a _second_ pretend that’s not what it was.”  

There was a split second’s hesitation.  Then Hannibal let out a little sigh. “You’ve hardly spoken to anyone outside of myself since you’ve been here.  You’ve been…sullen, irritable. I thought some pleasant company might be appreciated.”

Will snorted.  “Unbelievable,” he muttered.  “You think I need to get laid, Hannibal?  Is _that_ my problem?”

“There’s no need to be crass,” Hannibal retorted.  “You’ve been very isolated here and I…” His eyes tracked back and forth a moment.  “I don’t want you to feel…trapped. I want you to know you can have a life outside of these walls.  Outside of me.

Will gaped, then let out a sharp bark of laughter.  “Since _when?_ ”  Will glared, then squared his shoulders, meeting Hannibal’s eyes straight on.  “Since meeting _you_ , every woman I’ve dared to share any ‘company’ with has ended up in the _hospital_.”

Whatever reaction he’d expected from Hannibal, it hadn’t been for him to turn his face aside.  To lower his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was even, but low.

“…Nonetheless, I can assure you that won’t be the case now.  Or in the future.”

Will felt his heart sink.  

“No?” He said, throat tight.  

“No.” Hannibal said firmly, raising his eyes again.  

Will looked in those eyes, and tears formed behind his own.  He blinked them back furiously.

“I’m not _you_ , Hannibal,” Will said tightly.  “I’ve never been _sociable_.  I can handle being alone.”  He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat.  “And I sure as hell don’t need you to throw the first skirt you found in my way.  If you want me out of yours, just say so.”

With that, he walked out the door into the hall, pausing just long enough in front of Hannibal to glare at him.  

“ _Don’t_ do that again.”  

 

When he got to his room he slammed the door shut behind him, then dropped his face into his hands.  Tears he’d been holding back finally poured out, and he sniffed hard, hating how pathetic he felt. There was a click behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see Hannibal at the door.  

“Goddammit,” Will muttered, quickly wiping his face on his sleeve.  “ _What?”_  

There was a long silence.  

“You’re not in my way, Will.  That was never what I meant by any of this.  And I certainly wasn’t throwing the first ‘skirt’ I found in your way.  I have far more respect for you than that. And for her, for that matter.”

Will rolled his eyes.  “I don’t need to be set up on dates Hannibal, certainly not by you.  I don’t need or want you to be talking me up to women, or anyone else.  I’ve had enough of your manipulations to last a lifetime. Go find something else to amuse yourself with.”

“This hardly qualifies as a manipulation, Will.  It was nothing so nefarious.” Hannibal let out a low sigh.  “I’ve found Gabriella to be a kind and intelligent woman. When I noticed your interest in her, I simply thought to give you the opportunity to explore that interest.  I apologize if that was forward, but—”

“ _Interest?_ ”  Will whirled around.  “That’s—Hannibal, I have no interest in her.  At all.”

Hannibal stared back at him, his face carefully blank.  Finally, he inhaled.

“Would you prefer that I pretend to believe you?”  He said simply. “I could understand why you might wish to conceal this from me, though I’ll assure you again there’s no need.”  

Will blinked, then shook his head to clear it.  “ _What?_ ”  

“Or perhaps there’s an element of self-deception as well,” Hannibal suggested.  

“ _Self—”_  Will broke off and took a deep breath.  “I am not in denial and I am not lying to you Hannibal.  I honestly have no interest in the woman I met on the beach ten minutes ago.”  

Hannibal pursed his lips.  He fucking _pursed_ them.  

“—Oh my god.”        

“Will—”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Will repeated, voice rising.  “I can’t _believe_ this!”

“Whether you’re aware of it or not—”

“Whether I’m _aware_ of it?  You think you know what I’m feeling better than I do?  You can read my mind now?”

There was a pointed pause.  “I can read…certain things, yes.”  

“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” Will snapped flatly.  

Hannibal glanced away.  

“ _Hannibal_ ,” Will said through gritted teeth.  Hannibal’s jaw worked, and then he let out a tense sigh.  His eyes shifted, refusing to meet Will’s insistent gaze.

“You were…aroused,” he said finally, his voice very quiet.  “On the beach. When you looked at her.”

Everything in Will’s mind came to a screeching halt.  

“W…what?” Will stammered.  “H—” he broke off. Swallowed.  “Wh…why do you think that?”

Hannibal’s lips pressed together, his eyes still refusing to meet Will’s.  “…I could smell it.”

Will’s eyes closed and he bit back a groan.  “Of course you could,” he muttered. He covered his face with his hands.  “I forgot I was living with a mutant. Jesus.” Limply, he sat down on the bed, head bowed.  

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” Hannibal said, and Will let out a hoarse laugh.  “Indeed, you have nothing to be ashamed of. And if—”

“Hannibal, stop.”  

He didn’t know what exactly was in his voice that did it, but Hannibal immediately went silent.  Will took a deep breath and swallowed.

For some reason, keeping his secret in this particular moment just felt too goddamned exhausting.

Will closed his eyes.      

“I wasn’t looking at her,” he said softly, carefully, a hollow ache in his chest.  “I was looking away. From you.”

He lifted his head and met Hannibal’s eyes.  Hannibal’s face held a slight frown. _Questioning_.  Will swallowed again.  

“It was you.  You were what… _aroused_ me.  And I didn’t want you to see, so I looked away.  I didn’t even notice her till you pointed her out.  I was too busy…trying not to look.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned to stare at his hands, unable stand to weight of Hannibal’s gaze anymore.  

Hannibal was quiet a long time.  Each second felt like agony.

“That’s…unexpected,” Hannibal said finally.  

Will snorted.  “Really?” He lifted his gaze.  “After everything, it seems almost pedestrian.”  He blinked. “Too pedestrian, maybe,” he murmured.  He swallowed once more, gathering his courage. “You’ve really never…considered it?”

A brief pause passed, like a heartbeat.  

“We share a bond,” Hannibal said quietly.  “One that speaks beyond all words and dimensions.  But sex was hardly an inevitability. I had no expectations that our union would be a physical one.”  

Will blinked, the start of something clicking together.  Thoughts tumbled through his brain, rapid and frenetic but not disordered, as he re-catalogued them with a new perspective.  Tears still stained his cheeks, but he felt calm, now, as he looked at Hannibal standing in the doorway. Hannibal still hadn’t taken a step inside.  

Will’s head tilted.  “That’s not what I asked.”  

“When did you begin having this kind of reaction?” Hannibal asked, his tone clinical.  “Was this the first time?”

“ _That’s not what I asked_ ,” Will repeated, standing.  

“If this is a recent development,” Hannibal continued, still ignoring him.  “We might consider it a possible effect of our current proximity and isolation.”  

“Or maybe I just hadn’t seen you naked before,” Will said brusquely.  

His bluntness halted Hannibal mid-speech.  After a breath his mouth clicked shut. Will watched Hannibal’s jaw work.  His own lip twitched. Raising his chin, he inhaled—like he could catch the scent of what he was hunting for.  He felt a cool tranquility fall over him, and more in control than he had in quite some time.

“So, this _was_ the first time,” Hannibal said finally.  

“No.” Will replied flatly.  “Not the first time. Why won’t you touch me?” He added quickly before Hannibal could respond.  

The question hung in the air, hot and sticky.  Hannibal’s mouth worked silently a moment, but gave no answer.

“You haven’t touched me since the cliff,” Will went on.  “Not once.”

He took a step forward, and he had the strangest sense of Hannibal fighting not to step back further into the hallway.

“If this wasn’t the first time,” Hannibal said, finding his voice at last.  “Then what was?”

Will tilted his head, and took another step forward.  Once again, Hannibal seemed to almost reel back, like he was backed up against an invisible wall.  

“You know,” Will said thoughtfully, as he took one step and then another.  “All these questions, and you’ve still yet to answer mine. Doesn’t seem quite fair.  So, I’ll ask again.” He drew closer and closer. “Have you—” Hannibal for his part, looked more trapped with each foot of closed distance.  “—ever—” Which was odd, really, considering he’d never once appeared trapped during his actual imprisonment. “—considered it?”

When they were nearly chest to chest, Will met Hannibal gaze.  The light from the hallway behind him left Hannibal’s face in shadow, but Will held the pits of his eyes anyway, stubbornly refusing to be daunted.  Finally, Hannibal’s lips parted, his tongue wetting them before he spoke.

“Yes.”  

Will restrained the grin of victory from his face.  

“When?” he pressed.  

Hannibal’s jaw tensed.  

“Often.”  

This time Will did smile, just a bit.

“Then why won’t you touch me?” Will asked a second time, almost breezily.  “If you’ve considered it so… _often_?”

Hannibal was silent, and then his head tilted.  “And how often have _you_ considered it?”

“Almost constantly,” Will replied promptly.  

Hannibal’s lip quirked.  “As of today.”

“As of a few weeks ago,” Will conceded.  “Somehow it hadn’t occurred to me before then.”  His voice dropped to whisper. “Before I _saw_ you.”  He met Hannibal’s eyes for just a moment, coy and taunting.  “Without your clothes on, I mean.”

“And when was that exactly?” Hannibal asked dryly.  “I’m certain I would have noticed such an occurrence.”  

“You were asleep,” Will explained, his gaze turning inward with reflection.  “You wouldn’t remember.”

There was a deep pause, and then Hannibal’s eyes warmed with a flicker of satisfaction.  

“You _did_ come in my room,” he murmured.

“No,” Will said quickly.  He kept his eyes hooded, his gaze held on the corner of Hannibal’s mouth.  “No, I stayed outside the door. I just… _thought_ about going inside.  Of…” He flicked his eyes up.  “Do you know what that did to me?  Just _thinking_ about it?”  

The shutters fell back over Hannibal’s expression.  

“What—”

“I came,” Will said bluntly, eyes tracking over Hannibal’s face.  “Right there.” He leaned in close, his lips inches from Hannibal’s ear.  “I didn’t even touch myself,” he whispered. “I just thought about touching _you_.”  

He could hear Hannibal breathing, low and desperately controlled.  

“What—” Hannibal swallowed and tried again.  “Whatever your reaction, your…apparent feelings…it does appear it was a matter of circumstance.”  

Will snorted.  “It was a _revelation_ .”  He smirked.  “And all feelings are circumstantial, Hannibal.  They’re a response to _stimuli_.”  

He leaned in further then, and this time Hannibal did lean back, just a bit.  Will arched his brow. Then, carefully, he placed both his hands on Hannibal’s hips, grabbing hold over the belt loops of his trousers.  Hannibal froze at the touch, barely breathing at all now. Will tugged slightly, planting Hannibal in place, and then drew himself up, straightening his back and lifting his chin so they were nearly eye to eye before deliberately lowering his eyelids.  He leaned in till he could feel the warmth of Hannibal’s skin radiating against his through the air.

“Why won’t you touch me?” he asked yet again, his voice hushed.  

Hannibal’s mouth opened, but all that came out at first was a brittle croak.  “I…I don’t…”

“ _Hannibal,_ ” Will interrupted, letting every ounce of need pour into his voice.  “Why. Won’t. You. _Touch me?”_

Hannibal sucked in a breath through his teeth, his eyes falling closed.  Will could see him working to collect himself, visibly reeling himself in.  When his eyes opened, they were downcast, stubbornly avoiding Will’s gaze.

“I didn’t want to presume.”  

“ _Presume_ ?” Will’s eyes narrowed, head tilting.  “Did you think you’d scare me off? If you pushed _,_ too far, too hard? That after everything, _that_ would be too much? That I’d run away?”  

Hannibal was still, and then, very slightly, he shook his head.  “No. No, I thought you would stay.” His voice cracked. “And I didn’t want—”  He broke off. There was a slight tremble to his lips. Finally, he lifted his eyes.  Will could see a glimmer in them, faint and hard to make out.

“I didn’t want to demand any more of you,” Hannibal said, plain and unobtrusive.  “I didn’t want to _take_ anymore…anymore than I already had.  I didn’t want to even ask for anything you weren’t willing to give.”

His voice ended in a whispered hush.  A swirling mess of emotions cycloned inside Will’s chest, the different colors of them fighting against each other in an unmediated brawl.  When one of them began to win out, it was something hot and dark and glowing.

Will felt his eyes harden.  

“And how the hell,” he said with a low snarl.  “Would you know what I’m willing to give?”

He glanced down at Hannibal’s hands, still held staunchly at his sides.  Will’s fingers curled like claws into Hannibal’s hips through his clothes, and he felt Hannibal shudder.  After a split second’s thought, he tugged Hannibal forward to pull him fully into the room, then kicked the door closed behind him and slammed Hannibal’s unresisting frame up against it.

“If you won’t touch me,” he said with a mocking lilt.  “I guess I’ll just have to touch you.”

With that, he slid his hands up Hannibal’s stomach, coming to rest against his lower ribs.  He heard Hannibal hiss and smirked at the sound. He leaned in close, breathing hot against Hannibal’s cheek.

“But I _want_ you to touch me,” he said, pitching his voice barely above a whisper.   “I want to _feel_ you in every way possible, _know_ you in every way possible, utterly and completely.   _Just_ you,” he added, even more quietly.

He flashed back to that woman’s hand on his, warm and inviting and sickly sweet.  His jaw clenched.

“And if you _ever,”_ he warned, tone hardening.  “Try to foist me off on someone else again, ever say _anything_ to anyone that might make them think I’d want anybody but you to lay a hand on me…” He pulled back then, just enough to grab hold of Hannibal’s eyes with his own.  “Then I will bite your fucking tongue out.”

At that, the pits of Hannibal’s eyes seemed to light with a dusky fire and his lip curled into the very start of a snarl, but Will didn’t wait.  He slammed his mouth over Hannibal’s and bit that lip, hard, slipping his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth when he let out a gasp and running the tip of it over the points of his canines.  And then hands were in his hair, tugging desperately at the strands to pull him closer, and Hannibal let out a moan against Will’s lips that could only be described as _wanton_.  

After that, everything was a blur.

With frenzied kisses and frantic hands they tugged and tore at each other’s clothes, stumbling backwards into the room.  Will dragged his hands over the plains and curves of Hannibal’s increasingly exposed body, grabbing and kneading at every piece of bare skin he could find.  Finally naked,they fell haphazardly onto the bed with Hannibal landing on top of him, and Will instinctively wrapped his legs around Hannibal to pull him in.  They both groaned, mouths still locked in a desperately hungry kiss as their erections brushed together, and Will could barely restrain a whimper at the delicious feeling of Hannibal’s hips rubbing against his inner thighs.

It was artless and frantic, and if Will was expecting Hannibal to give their writhing some kind of direction he was sorely disappointed.  Neither of them seemed capable of existing beyond the need to press themselves in as close together as possible; to grasp blindly at each other’s sweat dampened skin; to swallow down the scent of the other like they were parched and starving and that was the only thing that could sustain them; to heedlessly plunge into the heat of each other as though the air around them wasn’t oppressively hot already.  

Though that external heat had never quite managed to pierce him, Will saw now, had never managed to get in and really warm all the cold places he was only now realizing had been there, deep inside him.  Had _always_ been there, deep, deep inside him.  Had he _ever_ felt warm before this moment?  He couldn’t remember.

Eventually their franticness began to fade, the burst of energy steadying and soaking into their limbs as an even, unbroken buzz.  Their movements slowed till they were nearly still, holding each other with urgent gentleness as they gasped and breathed against each other.  Arousal was present, but its urgency was dimmed now that the needy compulsion to simply _touch_ had been satisfied.  

 _This was all I needed_ , Will thought as he inhaled the scent of Hannibal’s hair mixed with the musk of his sweat.   _No_ , he corrected.   _This was_ **_everything_ ** _I needed_.

Hannibal pressed his nose in answer to the crook of Will’s neck, and Will felt him tremble slightly as he breathed.  Will all at once felt a throaty, hysteric laugh burst out of him. Dizzy with relief, tears formed in the corners of his eyes.  

“God,” he croaked. “I was starting to think…”  He cut off, unable to finish the thought as his throat constricted.  He closed his eyes, reliving the hopeless want he’d seen in Hannibal’s eyes, how he’d nearly vibrated with the strength it took to hold himself back, and relishing the naked need he felt from him now in every inch of his body.  Will gulped down the lump in his throat and let out another reedy laugh. “You picked a hell of a time to give up hedonism for asceticism.”

A puff of air blew against his shoulder.

“A miscalculation,” Hannibal conceded with a low chuckle.  “Most certainly. But I assure you my intentions were—” He lifted his head to meet Will’s eyes.  His hair had fallen messily across his eyes, and he tilted his head in a gesture that could almost be seen as bashful.  “Honorable,” he finished in a soft mumble.

Will’s mouth twitched into a sad smile.  “Never took you for the type to practice self-denial.  Self-discipline, maybe, but—” He broke off, swallowing again.  He took a breath. “I couldn’t imagine you wanting something and not even trying to have it.  That you wouldn’t even _ask_.” His voice cracked a bit, a hint of accusation slipping in.  

Hannibal lowered his eyes, half acknowledgement, half apology.  “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Will demanded.  

Hannibal was silent, but Will could see his eyes shining hollowly in the dark, glowing with a dull ache.

“Hannibal,” he said, very softly, and rested the palm of his hand against the man’s cheek.  Hannibal shuddered and leaned into the touch.

“I couldn’t,” Hannibal repeated, voice breaking.  “I couldn’t ask for more.”

“More?” Will asked.

“More than you had already given me,” Hannibal said, yearning eyes lifting to meet his.  

Will went quiet at that, and frowned.  He didn’t think he’d ever _given_ Hannibal anything; everything between them had always been hard won, in both directions.  

Hannibal seemed to sense his confusion.  He glanced away, swallowed, licked his lips.  Then, met Will’s eyes once more.

“Understand,” he began softly, lifting a hand to brush finger against the side of Will’s face.  “I thought of you…so often, during my confinement. I thought of you in Florence, after you’d been shot.  When you seemed to reach for me, in spite of your pain. I thought of the weight of you in my arms, when we escaped Muskrat Farm, as I trudged through the snow in spite of mine.”  There was an infinitesimal pause. “I…tried not to, but…there were moments—” His voice dropped to a nearly inaudible whisper. “—moments when I couldn’t help but wonder if those would be the last times I would ever be allowed to touch you.  To _feel_ you.”  

He inhaled, collecting himself.  “On that night, when we faced the Dragon—”

Will felt a shift in the flow of Hannibal’s words and tried to follow it, desperately aware of how important it was that he did.  

“—And you let me _see_ you.”  Tears pooled then in the hollows of Hannibal’s eyes till they shone like mirrors, glazed over and gleaming with unfettered reverence.  “Let me see the splendor of your becoming, it…It felt like a gift. But…” He swallowed. “When you _reached_ for me—” And now the mirrors shattered, pouring like rain down Hannibal’s cheeks  “And held me…yes, it was a gift, but…greater. More profound. Transcendent. That gift…that gift was a divine one.”  Hannibal’s voice stuttered, and then lowered to the softest, most hushed of breaths. “ _A miracle.”_  

 _And then I threw you off a cliff_ , Will thought bitterly.   _What part of the gift was that?_  But he didn’t say that.  Hannibal’s words still held the air between them, shimmering and buzzing with their intensity, and Will couldn’t bring himself to disperse them, even if the sheer spark of them seemed to sting.  

Hannibal let out a sigh, head half bowing as he released the ardor of those memories.  There was a long pause as he seemed to turn his gaze inward on himself.

“I have always been determinedly indulgent of my desires,” he simply, shooting Will a half-smile, the gesture wry and self-knowing.  “My hungers. My _sins_.”  He hesitated only a moment, and then bent his head to place a kiss to the curve of Will’s collarbone, letting out a breath against Will’s skin.  

“I have revelled in my lusts,” Hannibal intoned, low and sonorous.  “And my gluttonies.” He placed another kiss to Will’s chest, this one just a bit lower.  “My wraths,” he murmured into the center of Will’s sternum. “And my pride,” he said with a peck to Will’s left rib.  “Without restraint or regret, I have taken all that this world has, and never once hesitated or felt shame at the taking.”  There was a pregnant pause. “But it seems even I have my limits.”

Carefully, Hannibal placed his hands to Will’s sides, tilting his head till his brow nearly rested on Will’s breastbone.  The position now appeared supplicant, even—and Will felt himself frown, deep and unsettled— _penitent_.  

 _“How_ ?” Hannibal said, the word whispered brokenly into Will’s skin.  He pressed another kiss further down , and then another, and then another, trailing down the planes of his torso as he spoke aloud his fervid, crackling admissions.  “How, after you had given me… _everything_ I wanted _?_ How could I ask for more?  How could I _dare_ to be so—” His lip curled into half a snarl. _“Ungrateful_.”  

His mouth now hovered over the jagged scar across Will’s stomach.  Slowly, reverently, he bent his head pressed that warm mouth the corded skin.  Will sucked in a breath, at once starkly reminded of the pulsing heat running through his cock.  His cock, now mere inches from Hannibal’s mouth.

Hannibal was in no way unaware, Will was sure, and after bestowing Will’s scar with his attentions, he lifted his head just enough to lower himself a hairsbreadth more to hover with softly parted lips over the head of Will’s aching cock, close enough that Will could feel his breath.  

He stopped there, almost swaying, like he were being pulled by opposing forces, compelled by gravity in two directions and therefore left suspended in place.  Will could see his tongue half-hanging over his lower lip, see the naked, aching want. And yet, Hannibal remained in place, held as though by some invisible binding, and all his strength and need was not enough to break it.  

 _Tantalus in Tartarus,_ Will thought, the image coming unbidden to the forefront of his mind.   _Desperately reaching but never able to grasp._

Will shivered then, something in that thought sending a prickle down his spine.  

Tantalus had been a favorite of the gods—until he’d killed and cooked his own son, served the flesh to the haughty Olympians.  To test them. To see if they really were as powerful and wise as they presented themselves to be. As punishment, he was thrown into the underworld, and condemned to eternal hunger.  And to make his anguish even greater, beside him was set a tree—a tree bearing the sweetest and most beautiful fruit. Its branches would move nearer and farther as needed, always just beyond his reach, dooming him to spend an eternity staring at the only thing that could sate his hunger, and never able to touch or taste.  

Everyone always spoke of the torment of Tantalus; no one ever stopped to consider what it was like for the tree.

Like a damn breaking, Will felt something in his chest burst open.  With mindless resolve he reached down, took hold of Hannibal by the hair, and pulled his mouth down onto his waiting cock.  Hannibal opened without hesitance, swallowing him whole in an instant, and Will let out a sound—half a groan, half a howl—as he bucked his hips up in to the waiting slickness of Hannibal’s mouth and throat.  The heat around him seemed to glisten, to glow, and he rolled his pelvis in lazy, indulgent circles, revelling. Hannibal held him and worked him in tandem to his motions, a warm steady current cradling Will on a rolling sea.

His orgasm came in like a tide, sharp and soft all at once, and Will let out a contented sigh as he spilled into Hannibal’s mouth.  Hannibal drank him down, gulping earnestly before lifting his head to lick his lips, eyes closed in concentrated contentment. After a breath, he bent to place a soft kiss to Will’s inner thigh, his lips trembling.  Something shuddered in Will’s chest and, suddenly Impatient, he used his grip on Hannibal’s hair to pull him up, pressed their mouths together with hungry insistence.

“I don’t want your _gratitude_ , Hannibal” Will half-growled into Hannibal’s mouth.  “Or your penance. What I want,” he said, panting. “Is your _need_.”

With that he reached between them and wrapped a hand around Hannibal’s erection, till now left neglected against his hip.  Hannibal nearly spasmed at that first touch, then let out a soft whimper as Will began to work him. The pulsing hot hardness against his palm was deeply satisfying in way Will couldn’t quite explain, and he kept Hannibal held by the hair with his other hand, watching his sweat-glistened face with a ruthless ardor.  

“Open your eyes,” Will said softly over Hannibal’s quiet gasps.  “Let me see you.”

There was a sudden devastating stillness, and then Hannibal’s eyes flew open.  They seemed to glow, dark and red, ardent and unyielding in their intensity. Hannibal looked at him as though he could drink him in through his eyes—as though he could be nourished by the sight of Will alone.  

Will felt his jaw clench, and he tightened his grip around Hannibal’s cock to remind him that he couldn’t.  Or, at least, that he _shouldn’t_.  Hannibal hissed at the constriction, but didn’t break eye contact, letting Will look into him as he shuddered under his touch.  

A moment passed like that, and then Will felt Hannibal’s hand cradling the nape of his neck, his fingers curling into the soft hairs to pull him until their foreheads pressed together.  This time it was Will’s turn to shudder, the vibration traveling all the way down his spine and into his limbs. They stayed like that, locked in each other’s gaze as Will brought Hannibal closer and closer to the edge, shallow gasps echoing in the narrow space between them.

When Hannibal came it was with a low, grunting snarl, and both their hands tightened into fists in each other’s hair as he rode through it.  Will felt him spill against his wrist, and he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Tension evaporated from Hannibal as well, dissipating abruptly into a limp exhaustion.  

Will guided him down, letting him rest against his shoulder, and Hannibal, drained and heavy-limbed, wrapped his arms around him as best he could as he buried his nose in the crook of Will’s neck.  

Will slipped his hand from between them and wrapped both arms around Hannibal’s back, grasping with both hands to pull him ever closer.  He stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but shadows as Hannibal’s heart beat against his chest and the breath from his nose tickled the skin of his neck.  He felt dizzy, and in the quiet was plagued with a strange sense of unreality. Hannibal felt solid and warm in his arms, but somehow, in this heady quiet, he couldn’t quite believe in it.  

He dug his fingers into the curve of Hannibal’s back to ground himself, and instead was caught in the memories of that other time they’d held each other.  That other time they’d so desperately clutched to each other like there was nothing else in the world.

Somehow they’d managed to stay together, even after they’d hit the water and plunged below the surface.  Will could see it, even now as he looked up, the hazy shadows shifting into the dark swirling waters he’d seen as they’d sank.  He could still feel the heat of the Cuban summer air, but now at the same time there was the frigid cold of the Atlantic. He felt his own deep breaths, Hannibal’s steady and thunderous heartbeat, and also the claustrophobic pressure of the ocean pressing in around him as he struggled to hold air in his lungs and Hannibal’s pulse seemed to stutter and slow under the weight of the sea.  

Perhaps it’s not a memory, he thought.  Perhaps they were still there. Maybe they had never been fished and drawn from the ocean.  Maybe all this was nothing but the dream of a dying mind, grasping and clawing for something to hold onto.  For a moment, he even found himself believing that; and as he did the soft mattress underneath him suddenly seemed to open up, and they fell back into a waiting sea.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he realized, as Hannibal laid against him, unmoved and untroubled.   _Whether we live or die._   _As long as we have this, none of the rest matters._ He held Hannibal even more tightly to his chest, so close he could imagine them melting into each other.  

Looking up, eyes stinging (with tears or salt water, he couldn’t tell), he thought he could see a glimmer of moonlight on a roiling translucent surface above them, growing dimmer and dimmer as they floated down into the blackened depths.  Hazy darkness seeped into the corners of his vision (the edges of sleep? Or something calmer?) and as it did, Will closed his eyes, laid his head back, and let himself sink into the silence of the deep.

 

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and if you'd like, you can find me on tumblr as CrisisOnInfiniteFandoms, or on pillowfort as InfiniteCrisis. 
> 
> Also, here's the [Big Bang post](https://crisisoninfintefandoms.tumblr.com/post/180216897452/murder-husbands-big-bang-title-the-torment-of) for /this/ fic over on tumblr 
> 
> \--Much love, Crisis
> 
> Quick edit: thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos or commented, it really means the world to me, and if you liked this fic at all (or even if you didn't, lol) please consider popping over [here](https://aestheticmurderers.tumblr.com/post/180206810231/some-banner-art-i-did-for) to reblog the art from the artist's blog, and maybe leave a note there as well :-)


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